It had been almost three years since the Pevensies left Narnia. Almost three years of Caspian ruling over the kingdom he called home. But being king was even more difficult than he possibly could have imagined. Even so, during the course of his three year rule, peace had been restored throughout Narnia.

But as he lay awake in the dark of night, his mind found anything but peace. Images of his father still haunted his dreams, yet there was something else. He found himself alone, longing for something he did not know how to seek. He wasn't sure what it even was really, he only knew that it was missing.

Realizing he wasn't going to be getting any sleep, he threw open his bed curtains and opened the doors to the balcony. The the autumn night was quiet, the only sound being the faint whispering of the trees. Caspian looked up at the star filled sky and felt the same sense of wonder he had as young boy. The night sky had always fascinated him. His professor would tell him stories of kingdoms that lay beyond the vast collection of stars. Now it felt like the stars were the only ones he could turn to.

"How do I do this? I mean, this is completely ridiculous." He laughed bitterly and blew out a sigh. "How could you possibly help me?" A great gust of wind took Caspian by surprise, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Okay, okay." The wind continued. His vision was obscured by his dark hair that had blown in front of his eyes. "Alright!" He shouted. The wind stopped abruptly.

"I need," he began, searching for the correct words. "Something." He paused, feeling foolish. The memory of Susan came to him and he realized what he was so deeply missing. "I need someone. I don't know how much longer I can do this on my own." His gaze dropped to his feet before he glanced back up at the sky. "Please… help me."

A great roar sounded in the distance followed by another gust of wind, this one stronger and more fierce than the one before. Caspian couldn't help but smile in wonder as he was surrounded by colorful leaves, spiraling around him. After a moment, the leaves moved on with the breeze, flying to the east. He watched as they were engulfed by a bright light and disappeared.

He walked into his room, unable to stop the small question in his mind. What happens now?

The entire room went silent as the large stack of papers slammed onto Amelia's desk, causing her to almost jump out of her seat. She opened her mouth to ask what the meaning of this was until she saw the papers. Her face turned bright red. It was her book.

"What is this?" Jimmy Bloom, Amelia's boss- or tyrant, as she liked to call him- snapped.

"It's-" She cleared her throat and looked him in the eye. "It's a novel. My novel to be specific." Jimmy snorted- a perfect impression of a pig.

"You're a secretary, Amy, not a novelist." He laughed. Amelia had always hated his laugh. It was high pitched and unbearable obnoxious. After he had stopped his cackling, he ran his fingers through his light hair, and placed his hands on her desk. "Why was it on my desk this morning?"

"Well Mr. Bloom, I thought-"

"Here we go." Jimmy sighed.

"I thought that maybe if you would actually read of my books, you would consider publishing it." This argument had been going on for almost a year, Amelia trying to find every way to get Jimmy to publish one of her novels.

"Look," he started, "Amy-"

"Miss Connelly." She corrected.

"Whatever. We've had this conversation before. You're just not cut out for being an author." He ran one of his fingers down her cheek. "Stick to lookin pretty and setting my appointments." It took every ounce of self control she had to keep from biting his finger right off. He waltzed back to his office, sliding the papers off the desk as he went, scattering them all over the floor. Amelia let out a growl and knelt down to pick them up.

She hated Jimmy from the moment she met him, but she needed this job if she ever wanted the chance of being a real writer. The other workers began to file out of the room, stepping right over Amelia and the mess of papers.

It took almost twenty minutes to get all of the pages back in order. By then, she was the only one in the building, besides Jimmy and one of the custodians. She held to novel close to her chest and tried to keep the tears at bay. Pulling herself back together, she picked up her purse, putting the pages inside, and cleared of her desk.

"Sorry for that little show of force doll, you know how it is." Jimmy said, walking towards her with a sly smile on his face. She pretended not to hear him and started towards the exit. He grabbed her arm and she smelled the liquor on his breath. That was another reason Amelia hated him, he had horrible drinking habits. "Come on Amy, don't be like that."

"How many times must I tell you Mr. Bloom?" Amelia yanked her arm away. "It's Miss Connelly. And I really need to be going."

"Where?" He asked, only there wasn't curiosity in his voice. "Where could you possibly go? You have no family to get back to." She was taken aback by his words, not believing that he was saying them. She started to leave, wanting the day to be over.

"You're never going to get that book of your's published." He called after her. She turned back to face him, a sneer spreading across his face. "You'll never live up to your father."

"How dare you?" She spat, taking a step towards him.

"Just face it Amy!" He shouted. "You're always going to be the sad, familyless secretary!" Without thinking, she slapped him, the sound of her hand hitting his cheek echoing through the abandoned room.

Realizing what she had just done, she sprinted through the door before he could say another word. But once she had started running, she couldn't stop. She ran down the sidewalk, kicking off her best pair of heels into the street. She ran until she reached her apartment building. Her lungs burned and her feet were raw and red, bleeding from the thorn she had stepped on in her haste.

Grateful that everyone in the building were in for the night, Amelia unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside. It was far too small, even for one person. The kitchen was pitifully messy and the living room hadn't seen much life in weeks.

Seeing the small window, Amelia stormed across the room and let in the cool air. She dug into her purse until she had thrown every page of that stupid book into the sky, watching the wind sweep every paper down the street, each getting smaller and smaller until they appeared to be nothing more pale leaves on the sidewalk.

Now, unable to keep her tears hidden any longer, she sat down on her sofa, sobbing into her hands. Almost two years of working at the publishing company, all thrown away in a single motion. Any chance she had of publishing a novel was gone. Everything she had worked for now made worthless.

She looked at the picture frame on the small table in front of her, wiping tears away from her eyes. It had been taken the summer before. Her father had taken her sailing and the picture showed the two of them at the dock, smiling broadly in front of the sail boat.

Beneath the frame was the last letter she received from her father, promising that he would be coming home soon. But a month ago that promise was broken by the delivery of another letter. War hero, it had said. He died saving millions of innocent people and soldiers. She should be proud. The service had been short, though many people attended. But Amelia had been looking for the person who never came. The one her father had written all of his books about. The smiling woman in the pictures her father had kept all these years. Her mother.

Amelia stood up and wiped her eyes. She didn't have time to pity herself. She was unemployed and soon she'd be the talk of the street. The ladies at the company did enjoy gossip. But right now she didn't care. Looking around at her miniscule apartment, she only wanted to get out. There was cafe down the block that would be nearly empty, so she decided to go there.

She grabbed one of her father's books off the shelf and took the photograph out of the frame to use as a bookmark. Her father always used pictures to save his place. He claimed that it brought him luck. She put the book in her purse that was overstuffed with small notebooks, pencils and pens, and a leather journal that her father had sent her for Christmas, though she hadn't managed to think of anything to write in it. Slipping on her most comfortable shoes, she grabbed her coat before leaving her apartment for- unbeknownst to her- the last time.

The air was still and the night was warm. Oddly the street was empty, when usually it was filled with couples on nightly strolls or a group of friends out on the town. Amelia wished she was grateful for their absence, but instead she felt completely alone. She wrapped her coat closer around her as the wind seemed to pick up with every step she took. Leaves blew across the sidewalk, gathering by her feet. She narrowed her eyes as the leaves blew away, replaced by sheets of paper. Kneeling down, she read the writing and gasped as she stared at the first page of her novel.

"Impossible." She whispered as more pages started to pile around her. The wind picked up immensely, creating a cyclone of paper around her, the wall of pages so thick she could no longer see the buildings and shops that surrounded her. In the distance, there was a roar. As the noise grew deafening, she recognized the sound as that of a lion. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, wanting to just wake up from this nightmare.

And then it all stopped. The roaring went silent, the wind halted and the pages drifted down softly on top of her. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and started to pick up the papers. But as she lifted them off the ground, her hands grazed dirt, instead of cement.

She looked up and a scream caught in her throat. Instead of the buildings of downtown London, she was surrounded by the trees of a thick wood. She clutched her bag to her chest as she stood up, her feet instinctively backing away from the forest in front of her. She let out a startled yelp when her back hit something solid. Turning around, terrified of what she might find, Amelia let out a shaky breath as she gazed into the warm light of a lamppost.